Happy Birthday, Hatter!
by Ms. ST
Summary: The March Hare has been sneaking out of the house for the past few days, and the Mad Hatter is curious as of why. Oneshot. Rated for a compulsive drama queen.


**A/N:** _Holla! Welcome to my little happy story concerning the Matter Hatter and the March Hare. I believe they complement each other very well. I hope you are pleased with my interpretation of the Mad Hatter. After reading and rereading Alice in Wonderland and watching the Disney's Alice in Wonderland, I came to the conclusion: the Mad Hatter is a drama queen. Not the kind of drama queen Lohan portrayed in that one movie, but a fully blown-out, over the top, all bow down to His Imperial Awesomeness, drama queen. Or king. Whatever gender mark you feel more comfortable with. Hopefully you will not compare him to the Joker, for that was not my intention. Though Hatter gets angry, he would never lay a hand on his precious bunny. However... He does punish her by emtionally distressing her, as you will read in my one-shot below.  
Oh, there I go babbling again! I believe Hatter has greatly influenced me. Babble. Babble. Babble. Hahaha... Ehh. Enjoy._

**Disclaimer:** _Oh, I hate this part. I do wish I was the author of Alice in Wonderland and Thorugh the Looking Glass. I also wish I had that broad of an imagination. I do not believe Mister Carroll did drugs. He's a brilliant man and mathematician. I do take credit, however, on -my- interpretation of the Mad Hatter and the March Hare because others may see these characters differently. I like my Mad Hatter drama queen. And also bri-chan's Reginald. :3_

* * *

"I am concerned, Marchy," said a much distorted Hatter. His brows creased into a line as his bottom lip protruded out.

"And why is that, Hatter?" his companion questioned the Mad Hatter's sudden change in attitude. Not a minute ago, the two had doused their weight in tea, jigged along the length of their table, and played tag around their cozy cottage. To become suddenly perturbed after such silly antics was very much uncalled for, if not bizarre.

"For the past few weeks I have noticed a lack of attentiveness from you," he answered with a very dramatic sigh. "It was the eve of Thursday of last week that I had brought you a bouquet of daffodils. I know they are your favorites for they are the birth flower of the month of March and what-not. When I returned home – much giddy and gay to see the enthusiastic and admiring expression on your delightful features – I hollered your name as I passed over the threshold." He imitated his own voice, desperately and dramatically calling for his lover's name, much like he was doing the eve of Thursday of the following week. When he ceased his cries, his eyes fell on his rabbit friend, misery and loneliness washing over his face as he held his chin in the palm of his hand. "I looked in the den, my hopes high over my head to find you lodging on the couch. I did not find you there. Again my hopes were up to find you in the kitchen, but alas, again my anticipation was shot down. I searched the bedroom and the bath, but my little bunny could not be found. As I hunched my shoulders and dragged myself down the stairs, I could not help but wonder where the March Hare scurried off to."

"Oh, Ha-"

"No, no. No need for apologies," said the Mad Hatter, dismissively waving his hand in front of the March's face. "I was fine with myself… With my lonely, lonely self. Myself is very boring, you know. I cannot keep a deceit conversation with myself. Myself kept babbling and babbling, and I could not get a word in! Is that not the most irritable thing?"

"Ye-"

"Oh, Marchy!" he cut his friend off, flapping his arms in the air and throwing his head back in anguish. "I counted the hours, the minutes, the seconds! for your return. The poor daffodils I had gotten you were withering!" He then removed the large top hat from his head and held it in his arms, embracing it tight as he rocked back and forth on the wooden chair. He snuggled his face on the top of the hat and began to cry crocodile tears, his shoulders bouncing to make this act as believable as possible. "Please, darling, do not vanish again! I am not sure my heart could take your absence another time. You complete me, Marchy. I could not get away with the things I do if it were not for your brilliant schemes and logic!" He then held his head in his hands and began to sob once more.

As the Mad Hatter thought, as he peeked from between his fingers, the March Hare looked devastated. Her ears drooped below her chin; her frown lines wrinkled; her shoulders stooped; her brows arched from the middle of her forehead. His plan for making her feel guilty for leaving the house without his permission was working.

"Oh, Hatter, please forgive my absence," she began, gliding to a plushy pink chair next to him. "But if you will it, please let me explain why I was not home to welcome you and the flowers you bought me."

The Mad Hatter nodded, approving her explanation. Tears still streamed down his cheeks, and he resembled a little boy as he rubbed his nose on the top of his hat and part of his sleeve.

"I had to get the perfect thing for you. I had been hiding it away in the basement - going down there to check on it when the moment was right - because I knew you would not be going down there in a while. The Spade Parades are over, and winter is approaching. No one will be strolling these roads for weeks. No victims..." When her silence and the silence of the Mad Hatter met, she huffed, "Well, silly, do you know what day it is?" She was suddenly joyful as she bounced in her seat, her pink nose and long whiskers were frantically and excitedly wiggling around on her face.

When his face drew blank and no response was uttered from his lips, the March Hare hopped up from her seat and skipped into the house. A moment later she returned to her seat with a large orange box punctured with several holes. A large green bow was tied neatly on top, and tucked underneath was a card that read:

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY!  
With love,  
__Marchy_

Confused and surprised, the Mad Hatter looked from the box to a very blissful rabbit. He had forgotten it was his birthday. He had been brooding away on March's whereabouts that the day was insignificant to him.

She looked as if she was going to explode if Hatter stalled opening the gift any longer. So he reached forward, his fingers tracing the edge of the lid, and with one swift movement the lid landed on the floor. A moment passed and nothing happened: no explosions, no fireworks, no dancing girls in bikini tuxedos, canes, and top hats.

"Marchy, if you wanted to get me nothing, you did not have to go through this much trouble," Hatter sighed, his anticipation plummeted. "Nothing, with or without a box, is still nothing. You cannot wrap it up and expect someone to like it just because it has a pretty bow. Really, this is very disappointing."

"Look inside," whined the March Hare, rolling her eyes at how dense Hatter could be.

Hatter leaned forward and peeked inside, blinking at the sleeping creature that laid in the corner on a patch of hay. Hatter blinked again, expecting it to move, but to his displeasure, it stayed still.

"Marchy, dear, I believe it is dead," the Hatter confirmed as he stuck his finger inside and poked the animal's stomach.

Startled, the creature lurched from his position in the corner and sank its teeth into Hatter's vulnerable finger. The man wrenched his arm back, yelping in pain and surprise; however, the creature hung from his finger, its eyes getting droopier and droopier until they shut completely.

Hatter looked from the animal to Marchy with wide eyes and arched brows and an overall horrified expression. "What _is_ this… _thing_?" he asked, his nose turned up and his face twisted in disgust.

"It's a mouse!" the March Hare said happily, oblivious to the incident that occurred not five seconds ago. "A Dormouse to be exact. I remember you explaining how you always wanted one. They tell the most delightful stories, and you said you would like to hear fables and such while drinking tea. Tea and a show!"

"Does it have a name?" he asked, taking the teeth from his flesh.

"I will leave that up to you," replied March. "It is your pet after all."

"No, no," Hatter argued. "It is _our_ pet, but I will take the liberties as to naming it." He took a second to look over the large mouse, holding out with two hands far from his face. "He is much too vile to be named after me. I would never bite someone." He stole a glance at Marchy, who, in return, gave him a sly grin. "Well, I do not bite hard. But he does not have your bubbling personality." The mouse bobbed its head back, its mouth cracking wide open as it snored. "I think… Dormouse with suffice. It is what it is, after all."

The Mad Hatter placed the sleeping mouse back upon its hay-bed, spun around, and circled his arms around the shoulders of the March Hare. He took her head and pinned it against his chest as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. He began to sway to and fro as his dramatic side took hold of his body once more. He raised his brows and started to pet March's long, chocolate brown hair. He took a long, theatrical breath and said, "Oh, Marchy! I thank you for this birthday gift! Oh, and I feel oh-so terrible for growing angry at you! If I had but known your neglect to be with me was because of me, for me! Oh, darling, dear, please pardon my previous mood, sensation, reaction, whatever! It was but of yesterday. Nothing more."

The Mad Hatter wiped away a stray hair from the March Hare's face and cupped her olive-toned cheek lovingly. He placed an innocent kiss upon her lips before hurrying over to the box to play with his new pet.

* * *

**A/N:** _So, what did you chika-poos and gents think? Did I disgrace the name of Hatter and March? Would I make Mister Carroll proud? Are you wondering 'Why hasn't this child written more about this enchanting pair?' Don't fret readers! If I receive enough comments, good or bad, I will consider. Mister Hatter and Marchy have been very quiet as of late. They usually tell me of their adventures or the latest gossip on whose head has been on the chopping block, but nothing has come up._

Hatter: Will you stop blaming us for your writer's block? Really, Sarah, it is getting quite old.

I will write a lemon between you and the Dutchess, so help me God, Hatter!

Hatter: There is no need to get irrational, Sarah. That grotesque women as so much pepper lodged up her nose, I am surprised it has not fallen off from sneezing.

Thanks for reading. Please comment.


End file.
